A Chance Encounter (11 page)

Lady Cassandra nodded in satisfaction. “Edward, my granddaughter has finished her tea. Might I suggest a walk about the garden?”

Lord Humphrey was surprised, but he rose to the occasion. “Of course.” He thought it uncharacteristic for Lady Cassandra to encourage what would be considered conduct more becoming a wedded couple than one engaged, especially after her ladyship had just finished saying that they must all begin playing their roles. However, he was not at all averse to being alone with Joan. On the contrary, he had something of a private nature to say to her.

Joan did not remind Lady Cassandra that she had already been out in the garden earlier, but instead went up to retrieve her wrap. She did not know how it was, but she was looking forward to being alone again with Lord Humphrey.

When she returned downstairs, she and the viscount walked outside.

The evening was coming on softly by then. Insects had begun their nightly ritual of singing the sun down; the barest breeze stirred the flowers in their beds. The viscount and Joan walked slowly, the silence between them borne out of a feeling of companionship.

Lord Humphrey steered Joan toward a stone bench. It was a pretty spot, the bench being set off by the blazing roses behind it. He thought it the perfect setting for what he wished to say.

He was astonished when his companion abruptly pulled free of his hand and stopped. He looked down at her, perplexed. “What is it, my lady?”

Joan stared at the bench and the roses. She glanced fleetingly up at his lordship. “You will think it nonsensical, but I would truly prefer to sit someplace else. I do not much care for roses, you see.”

Lord Humphrey felt even greater astonishment. “Not care for roses? Why, I thought all females liked them. Dash it, I know they do, for once I spent hours combing all of London for a melon-colored bud for a particular lady. Melon-colored! I ask you, whoever heard of a melon-colored rose?”

“Is there such?” asked Joan, interested.

“No,” Lord Humphrey said explosively. “At least, none that I could find. What’s more, the particular lady-bird who desired it did not wait to see whether I found one or not. She-”

Joan’s fine brown eyes held a fascinated expression and he realized that he was about to confide a rather scandalous tale to her genteel ears. “But that is neither here nor there,’’ he said hurriedly. “Now see here! What’s this about not liking roses? You do think they’re pretty, do you not?”

“Oh, yes, they are perfectly lovely,” Joan gestured in an apologetic way. “It is the scent, you see.”

The viscount’s countenance cleared. “I understand you, of course. I myself have always found the scent of roses to be cloyingly sweet. Come. I glimpsed another bench down the last walkway we passed. I have something of importance to say to you, you know.”

At his lordship’s words, Joan forgot about the roses. “Something of importance, my lord?”

But he refused to say anything more until they had reached their destination. Once Joan was seated, Lord Humphrey was ready to disclose his thoughts. “My lady, I realize that we have not known each other for very long, and certainly the manner of our meeting did not reflect well upon my own character—”

He saw that she was about to speak and he held up his hand. “Please, my lady. I have given much thought to this.’’ She hesitated, then nodded her acquiescence and folded her hands in her lap.

“The vows between us were made in circumstances that I, for one, could have wished far different. I suspect that you have felt the same. That is why I wished you to know that I shall always attempt to uphold the true spirit of those sacred words,” Lord Humphrey said.

“And I,” Joan said quickly.

Lord Humphrey gave her a grave smile. He drew out of his coat pocket a small jeweler’s box and placed it in her hands. “I shall not have another opportunity to express my gratitude to you. Nor do I have the words. I ask only that you accept this as a small token of my future devotion.”

Joan opened the jeweler’s box. She stared at the contents. “Oh, my word,” she whispered.

“I hope that you like the set,’’ Lord Humphrey said with a hint of anxiousness.

She looked up. Her brown eyes were like stars. “Oh, yes. I do, very much indeed.”

He sat down beside her. “Allow me.”

The viscount slid his signet ring from off her slender finger and placed it back onto his own finger. He removed the engagement ring from its velvet bed in the jeweler’s box and slipped it on in the place of the too-large signet ring. “It looks well on you,” he said quietly.

“It is perfectly lovely,” breathed Joan. She flashed her warmest smile. Her face was radiant. “I do thank you, Edward.”

Lord Humphrey blinked. The impact of her smile was devastating. He felt rocked back on his heels. He had the most disconcerting urge to take her into his arms and thoroughly kiss her. He restrained the impulse, however, knowing instinctively that it would be wrong to the moment. His lady was not a sophisticated London miss who would take a stolen kiss in the light manner that it was intended.

Joan was very aware of a difference on the air. Suddenly a tension like no other she had ever experienced lay between her and Lord Humphrey. There was a strange look in the viscount’s eyes, one that gave her the impression of a banked fire. She wondered why ever that particular simile crossed her mind.

“I shall return the wedding band to you for safekeeping,’’ she said breathlessly, holding out the jeweler’s box.

The odd moment vanished as swiftly as. it had come. Lord Humphrey looked down thoughtfully at the gold band still reposing in the box. He closed the box and gently curled her fingers about it. “No, it is yours by all rights.”

Joan looked up into his earnest expression, and after a moment she gave a hesitant nod. She slipped the jeweler’s box into the pocket of her gown. “I shall wear it on a gold chain tucked inside my dress,” she said.

The viscount glanced fleetingly at the lace-trimmed edge of her bodice, envisioning the gold band resting between the soft swell of her breasts. He cleared his throat hastily. “Shall we return to the house, ma’am?” he asked.

Joan rose at once from the bench. “Of course. Lady Cassandra will be wondering what is keeping us.”

“Somehow I very much doubt it,” murmured Lord Humphrey.

Joan cast a glance at his face. She saw his twisted smile. She was on the point of asking the viscount what he was thinking about when something in his expression recalled to her the odd breathlessness that she had felt only moments before.

She did not ask his lordship what he had meant, after all.

Three carriages
drew up to the front of the sprawling country house commonly known as Dewesbury Court. The arrival was apparently expected because the front door flew open and revealed a handful of footmen. The footmen pulled down the iron step to each of the carriages and unlatched their doors.

Lady Cassandra and Joan had traveled in the lead carriage. The second carriage had carried their abigails and most of Lady Cassandra’s baggage. The third carriage carried Bates, Lady Cassandra’s favorite cook, whom she always insisted accompany her wherever she went, and the needlewoman whom Lady Cassandra had brought to remedy Joan’s meager wardrobe. The rest of the baggage, including the viscount’s trunks and the few trunks that were Joan’s, were also in the third carriage.

Beside the lead carriage was an outrider astride a fine gray gelding. The gentleman dismounted and negligently tossed the reins to one of the footmen. “Take him about to the stables. Mind, tell the head groom that the gelding is to have no grain for an hour. I’ll not have him foundered.”

“Yes, my lord.” The footman turned about, resigned. It was not his duty nor his inclination to deal with big brutes like the viscount’s gelding. He had not taken two steps before he was accosted by one of the grooms, who indignantly took exception to having his own duties usurped.

“Aye, ye can have the nasty brute, and welcome to him,’’ assured the footman. “And mind, no grain for an hour!”

The groom threw him a look of contempt and clicked his tongue at the gelding as he led it off.

Lord Humphrey turned to give his hand to Joan. She placed her gloved fingers in his strong clasp, meeting his gaze with an anxious expression in her brown eyes. He smiled reassuringly. “There is naught to be frightened of, I promise you,” he said softly.’ “The dragons were all slain generations ago.’’

Joan allowed herself to be helped down to the graveled drive. She looked up at the mansion that overshadowed them. “It is not mythical reptiles that I am afraid of,” she murmured.

Lord Humphrey laughed. His glance was at once warm and conspiratorial. “I appoint myself knight protector, my lady.”

“It is Miss Chadwick, my lord,” Joan said in a warning whisper. They had ascended the steps and were entering the front hall, where she could see that a small party awaited them. Joan felt herself tensing and she was but half-aware that she was clutching the viscount’s elbow with uncomfortable force.

“Of course. I quite see your point,” Lord Humphrey said in a normal voice. He laid his hand reassuringly over her fingers.

Lady Cassandra was speaking to a well-dressed woman who appeared to Joan to be much like her ladyship in face and stature. Joan thought that this must be Lady Dewesbury, and she looked across at her curiously. The countess’s brows were puckered into an anxious frown and she replied to Lady Cassandra in a voluble and rapid style.

At the sound of the viscount’s voice, Lady Cassandra turned. Her gray eyes were alight with what Joan suspected was anticipation, but her ladyship’s voice betrayed only urbanity. “Ah, here is Edward now. And of course Miss Chadwick as well.”

Lady Dewesbury’s expression lightened. She came swiftly across the marble tiles. “Edward!” She literally fell into his arms, forcing him to give up his polite escort of the lady who stood beside him.

Lord Humphrey supported her. “Here, Mama, what’s this?” he inquired in a rallying tone. He had decided to force the issue, reflecting philosophically that it was best to have the worst done with. “You’ve not had bad news, I hope?”

Beside him, Joan stood rigid, disbelieving that she had heard his lordship correctly. Her alarmed senses were acutely attuned. She saw the fleeting look of surprise that crossed Lady Cassandra’s face, and the outrage that entered the faces of the gentleman and the lady who had thus far stood silently by. Joan knew without a word being said that the silent pair were Lord and Lady Ratcliffe. Their affront was too apparent and too violently felt to belong to objective bystanders.

As for the countess, she instantly drew herself erect, spurning the viscount’s supporting hands. “Edward, I do not find that in the least amusing,” she said sharply. The anxious air had returned to her and she cut a comprehensive glance at the young lady standing a little apart from her son.

Lady Dewesbury was surprised by her first impression of Miss Chadwick. Since reading the unbelievable announcement in the
Gazette
of her son’s engagement, she had vacillated between doubting the actual existence of the woman and the horrid conviction that the woman was a painted hussy of the worst sort who had entrapped her darling with hideous wiles. Miss Chadwick at least did not fit the vulgar woman of her imagination. She was dressed as a lady and her bearing was that of a lady, thought Lady Dewesbury with a thankful sense of relief.

On the other hand, Miss Chadwick did undeniably exist.

“Nor do I find it amusing,” said the other lady. Her voice was like cut glass. She was taller than the Countess of Dewesbury by half a head and was possessed of classical features and a broad patient brow. The overall impression of wisdom and serenity was belied by the unfriendly expression in her cold blue eyes as she slowly stared Joan up and down.

The gentleman put up his eyeglass and also stared in Joan’s direction. His magnified blue orb appeared monstrous. “Perhaps it is all a ghastly mistake,” he said ponderously.

Lady Dewesbury threw a harried glance over her shoulder. She lowered her voice. “Edward, this is the most dreadful thing-”

Lady Cassandra decided it was time for her to take a hand. She disliked the notion of standing about at any time, but especially in a drafty front hall where any number of servants were going about their duties in a suspiciously creeping manner, their attention obviously directed more onto their betters instead of their work.

“Daughter, could we not continue these pleasantries in the drawing room? I am of an age that demands the comforts of cushions and hassocks and warm sherry,’’ Lady Cassandra said.

The Countess of Dewesbury, recalled thus brusquely to her duties, gathered her tattered dignity about herself like a mantle. “Of course, Mama. I do not know what I was thinking of, I am sure.” The polite phrases that came so readily to her lips served to impart some balance to her. “Pray do come into the drawing room. You must all be yearning for a cup of tea or perhaps wine. Yes, yes, wine it shall be. See to it, Hudgens.” She flapped her hands in ineffectual movements to urge them all into the drawing room.

“I think not,” Lady Ratcliffe said in freezing accents, still staring at Joan. She turned away her gaze at last, only to fix the same chilly stare on the viscount. “We shall talk later, my lord.”

“I think we shall go in now, Aurelia,” Lord Ratcliffe said in a thoughtful manner.

“Sir!’’ Lady Ratcliffe turned her disbelieving and outraged countenance onto her spouse. “You cannot be serious.”

“I am perfectly serious, Aurelia. If you cannot see the forest for the trees, I can,” Lord Ratcliffe said obscurely.

“Whatever can you mean?” demanded Lady Ratcliffe.

Lord Ratcliffe firmly slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow and gestured for her to accompany him across the hall. “Mere curiosity alone must surely persuade you, Aurelia.”

Lady Cassandra seized the initiative and took hold of Joan’s arm. “Come, my dear. You shall aid me to my chair, if you please. I am taking you away before proper introductions are made, but then I am rude to a fault when I so wish it.” So saying, she made Joan accompany her into the drawing room.

The viscount followed with his mother while the Ratcliffes brought up the rear.

The butler brought the wine and served it in silence. Lady Cassandra settled herself next to the fire, her feet comfortably perched on a hassock. Joan seated herself in a wing-back chair opposite her ladyship. Lord Humphrey wandered over to the mantel and stared thoughtfully into the yellow flames. Lady Dewesbury and Lord and Lady Ratcliffe took their places roughly opposite the young woman whom they all seemed unable to take their respective gazes from.

Joan very much wished herself somewhere else. The antagonism aimed in her direction was palpable. She was amazed that she had ever thought she could brazen out the displeasure of the viscount’s family and acquaintances, when already within a very few minutes she was quite willing to run away as fast as she was able. She turned the ring on her finger over and over.

The nervous movement inexorably drew Lady Dewesbury’s gaze. Her eyes snapped then to the viscount’s face in shock and disbelief. “It is true, then! That infamous announcement in the
Gazette
is true,” she gasped.

“Of course it is true. Why should it not be?” Lady Cassandra asked. She impatiently waved the lingering servants out of the drawing room.

“But . . . Oh, Edward, how could you?” wailed the countess, covering her face with one trembling hand.

Lord Humphrey swiftly knelt beside the overwrought countess. He took her free hand between his own. “Mama, pray—”

Lady Dewesbury dropped her hand from her face, revealing suddenly flashing eyes. She pulled free of her son’s grasp with a show of revulsion. “How dared you, Edward? I demand that you apologize at once. At once, do you hear?’’

A nerve jumped in the viscount’s jaw. “Indeed, Mama? For taking my destiny into my own hands at the ninth hour?” He rose to his feet. As he looked down into his mother’s face, he gave a twisted smile. Softly, he said, “I have been the dutiful son and heir. I have done all that has ever been asked of me. Neither you nor my father has ever had cause to be disappointed in me. Perhaps I made a grave error in never giving you such cause.” He turned on his heel and aligned himself beside Joan’s chair. So close together, she seated gracefully in her chair with his lordship standing beside her and his hand laid on the back of the chair, they presented a picture of complete unity.

Lady Dewesbury stared speechlessly at her son, as much stricken by what he had said as his obvious determination to support the usurping Miss Chadwick.

At Lord Humphrey’s declaration, Lord Ratcliffe’s heavy brows rose in astonished comprehension. He stared hard at the viscount, as though seeing him for the first time, and a long-buried thought turned over in his mind. He said something under his breath.

“Rubbish,” snapped Lady Ratcliffe. She shook off her husband’s warning hand. Trembling, she said, “Fine talk, my lord! No, I shall
not
be quiet! Someone must speak for our poor daughter. You, sir. You have betrayed my innocent’s hopes and expectations. When the announcement was discovered in this morning’s edition, she was positively shattered. She could not be brought to believe it.”

“Did the girl fall into the fits?” Lady Cassandra asked with polite interest.

Lady Ratcliffe glared at her ladyship. Lord Ratcliffe looked meditatively at the ceiling. “She drummed her heels on the floor, actually,” he murmured.

“Gad, I am glad I was not here to hear it,” Lord Humphrey said fervently.

Lady Cassandra gave a cackling crow of amusement.

Lady Ratcliffe rounded on her husband, raining a furious fusillade of words upon his head. Lord Ratcliffe merely shrugged. “Facts are facts, my dear heart,” he told his lady.

She was not mollified, but jumped to her feet and with barely controlled venom, she said, “I shall not remain another moment in the same room with those who are completely abhorrent in my sight. Between the pair of them, they have made my baby miserable. I shall never forgive any of you, but most particularly you, my lord, never!” She ran from the drawing room.

Lord Ratcliffe was slow to follow his wife. He looked shrewdly at the viscount, who met his reflective gaze with an air of stiff defiance. “I have thought for years that Augusta was too heavy-handed with you.” With that surprising comment, he, too, left the drawing room.

“Just see what you have done by your churlishness, Edward,” exclaimed Lady Dewesbury. “There is dear Aurelia completely overset. Oh, I do not know what is to be done now. Poor Augusta was calmed only after a liberal dose of laudanum. Such a fragile girl—I had no notion! And now there is Aurelia! The Ratcliffes are fixed here for weeks. I do not know how I shall be able to bear the mortification.’’

“Put a damper on it, daughter,” Lady Cassandra said crushingly. “I do not think I have ever seen a Cheltenham tragedy acted better.”

The countess turned an outraged gaze on Lady Cassandra. “How can you berate me so, Mama? I can see that it pleases you to champion Edward’s cause, though how even you could be so unfeeling, so utterly insensible, I cannot fathom.”

She had gotten to her feet as she spoke and now she whisked herself about to the door. She glanced over her shoulder at her son, who had stationed himself behind his fiancée’s chair and now rested a hand upon the unknown girl’s rigid shoulder. “You may as well know, Edward: your father has gone out for birds.” With that triumphant shot, she exited the drawing room, letting the door fall shut behind her with a loud bang.

“Birds?” Lady Cassandra repeated, intrigued. She cocked an inquiring brow in the viscount’s direction.

Lord Humphrey smiled grimly. “My father detests shooting birds. According to him, they are puling sport and not worth the effort. Actually, of course, it is because he is such an abominable shot. He only takes out his fowling piece when he is in an ungovernable temper. It is the worst sign.”